


Escaping Hell

by dykeadellic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykeadellic/pseuds/dykeadellic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serial killer Dean breaks out of prison to save little Sammy from their abusive father. Except Sammy isn't the same as he was five years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escaping Hell

Dean Winchester had been in a high security prison since age 18 for the rape and murder of over twenty women.

It'd been five years now, and Dean had finally escaped, trying to figure out how to contact Sam. His little brother needed him, always had. Dean had always been the one to take care of him, to keep John away from him on those nights were John threw back a few too many shots or cold ones... or both.

It made Dean see red to think about what their father might have done to his little brother. Not that John had any right to call himself a father when all he did was beat on his own children.

Dean had been planning on killing John as soon as Sammy was of age. Because then, well, it wouldn't really matter if something happened to Dean. Sam could, at that point, take care of himself. And if his baby brother never found out how the sight of blood made him so hard he'd blow in his pants repeatedly while killing, well... some things weren't meant to be talked about.

Dean walked through the woods, using the stars and sounds to guide him towards the nearest highway, where he hitched a ride to a small town. 

As much as Dean wanted to slit the truck drivers throat and fuck his mouth while he died, he knew that would alert the cops. So he refrained. Let it never be said that Dean Winchester was not in control of his actions. 

"Excuse me, m'am," Dean said, flashing the waitress a dazzling smile. "I was wondering if you had a phone I could borrow? I'm trying to get ahold of my brother to come pick me up."

The waitress smiled kindly and handed Dean her cellphone. Dean dialed John's number, and upon hearing the drunken voice lost his cool. 

"Where's Sammy, you drunk bastard," he hissed, low enough to not alert anyone else in the diner. 

"Well, well, if it isn't the prodigal son. That bastard of a brother of yours left. For fucking Stanford. The no good piece of trash thought this life wasn't-"

Dean hung up, signaled the waitress, and handed her the phone back with a thank you.

Dean was a long way from Stanford, but he was resourceful. And along an ocean. He slit the woman's throat, used gloves as he moved her towards the ocean, her pockets filled with rocks to weigh her down, put her in a life vest to keep her afloat, and then when he could no longer see the shore, he undid the vest and watched her sink. 

There would be no one to report the car missing, she'd been single with no friends, and thankfully a ton of cash. So Dean filled up the tang of the Acura and drove, stopping to buy food, but only ever sleeping in the car. People were looking for him, after all. You didn't just escape a high security prison and NOT have every officer in the USA trying to track you.

Halfway to Stanford he bought hair bleach, letting it get just blonde enough before rinsing it out. 

Right outside of the college he bought colored contacts, changing his green eyes to brown. He'd let the stubble grown into a small little beard, and when he looked at his reflection he wasn't sure he knew the person staring back at him. Perfect.

It amazed Dean how easy it was to get onto the university campus. No one ever questioned if he was supposed to be there. With the hoodie he'd stolen and his baggy pants (which he sure as hell hated), he looked every bit like the other boys on campus, stressed about finals. 

Given what he knew about his brother, which was basically everything, he knew Sam must be here studying law. But Sam was only nineteen, so there weren't many law classes available to him yet. He had to deal with getting the associates first. 

Eventually, after asking around, he found the student directory, and in it was his brother's name, Sam Wesson. 

It made Dean smile. That had been the agreed upon last name they would use if they ever wanted to signal the other. So baby boy hadn't forgotten.

Dean flipped open the shitty prepaid phone and dialed the number, memorizing the address listed.

"Hello?" came a deep voice that Dean didn't recognize.

"... Sammy?" Dean asked incredulously.

There was a long pause before, "Dean?!"

"Who else, little brother. How are you?" Dean said, fighting to keep the relief out of his voice. He had find Sammy.

"Dean... you... you're supposed to be serving a life sentence," Sam said incredulously. 

Dean rolled his eyes. "Really Sammy, do you think they could hold me forever? Besides, I was worried about you, and what that bastard might be doing to you without me there. You okay?"

Another pause.

"Yeah, I am. I... I'm really glad to hear from you, Dean. I... I wish I could see you."

Dean grinned. "Well, are you home now?"

"Well yeah, but Dean, you're in Florida, how are you supposed to get here before i leave my house?"

"Wrong, baby boy. I'm outside your apartment. Now open up."

Dean could practically hear Sam bounding through the apartment, and then the door flung open.

For a moment they stared at each other. Dean was having a hard time comprehending just how much his scrawny kid brother had grown. And muscled out. And tanned. Dean found himself biting his lip, wondering if Sam was equally proportioned everywhere.

But then Sam was engulfing Dean in a bear hug, and Dean could feel his back cracking.

"You look... different. Take out those contacts, they're stupid," Sammy finally said as he closed and locked the door.

"You look... good, little brother. Not so little anymore. If you'd been one of the guys in prison, I don't think I would have minded bending over to take it from you," Dean said with an eye waggle.

Sam blushed and turned away, hearing to try and turn off the television, but not before Dean got a good long look at what he was watching. Porn. But not just any porn. Porn with a guy who a guy who looked very much like him, and who was holding the other guy at gunpoint.

"Is that what you want, Sammy? You want me to fuck you like that? Take care of you like that? Split you open with my cock, make you beg for it, make you swear your mine."

Sam couldn't say anything, but he didn't have to. His dick could be seen through his boxers, straining for release.

"Why don't you get down on your knees, little brother, and show me how happy you are to see me. And if you're really good? I'll fuck you until you're crying."

Sam sank to his knees, giving one last look to his brother. "And if I'm excellent, Dean?"

Dean smirked. "Then I'll bring you a present that you get to help me carve. And afterwards? We'll fuck some more. Hell, I might even let you rape the bitch."

And without any more prompting needed, Sam eagerly sank his head down on his big brother's cock.


End file.
